Perfect Revival
by Kerreb17
Summary: With the death of Queen Renoir, the Skullgirls had seemingly been defeated for good. Treaties were signed and nations bonded, but something ominous lurked in the horizon. The Skullgirl was going to rise again, and it was only a matter of time. One-shot. Alternate intro.


**Author's Notes: I've just realized that I'm not very good at writing happy stories, so here's another serious one. Maybe I'll someday get over this incessant angsty mess of a writing style complete with wordiness beyond belief and line breaks from hell, but let's not worry about that just yet, okay?**

**I also went ahead and took artistic license on the Skullgirls universe, adding another kingdom only for mention. It doesn't have any direct effect on the plot or resolution, but I felt that I should just throw that out there so that nobody is immediately confused.  
**

**Anyways, this is a hypothetical backstory leading up to the current events from the games. Hopefully, this will not only prove entertaining but also be thought-provoking as well. That certainly would be great, wouldn't it?**

* * *

Peace had come to the land. The death of Nancy Renoir, the "Skull Queen" as some had called her, brought the world's conflicting nations into an uneasy treaty, signed with literal ink and metaphorical blood. Though many lives were lost in the fight to destroy the Skullgirl, they slept reassured that there would never be a threat this great again.

But no matter how safe they thought that they were, the Skull Heart still lived on. The world leaders didn't truly understand the Skull Heart's power, and for good reason. Only those who have ever been corrupted by its influence understand it. It's wicked intent defies any reason that the victim can muster against it. Maybe that's why Queen Renoir, even with the seemingly selfless wish for world peace, became one of the most devastating Skullgirls to date.

After the war, the world leaders made two major decisions: one good and one fatal. They knew that the Skull Heart could only work its magic if a _corrupted_ woman made the wish. If a _pure_ woman could make the wish, then maybe the power of the Skull Heart could be used for good instead of evil. So they didn't make a wish—this was the good decision. They also kept it alive with the hope that it could be used by a pure individual—this was the fatal decision.

Problems quickly arose as a result of their treaty. They couldn't agree on where to house the Skull Heart. Each politician had their own agenda, vying for the evil artifact to be in their own country and under their own rules. This conflict almost plunged the kingdoms into war again, but one man stood tall and proposed a compromise in order to cut the political tension. And so, over the course of seven years, the Skull Heart was moved from kingdom to kingdom under high security measures. Every year, armored vehicles would transport the Skull Heart to the next kingdom in line to protect it; and this seventh year marked the Canopy Kingdom, the source of that corrupted artifact, to receive it.

With this knowledge, the deadly Black Dahlia sat in wait of the transport. As a literal weapon of the Medici Mafia, she was one of the most capable women who could be chosen to steal it. Even though she was technically an assassin, it didn't take much extra effort to steal something from a dead man. Why Lorenzo Medici trusted her not to use it for herself didn't matter; all that mattered was whether or not he would get his hands on the most powerful force known to mankind.

The target, a six ton armored car with three-inch thick walls of steel, would be child's play for her. What made the task somewhat trickier was the presence of guards—Black Egrets on motorcycles, equipped with automatic guns that could mow down any random orphanage in less than a minute—that were evenly spaced out around the car. Dahlia knew that, even with the grenade launcher mounted where her right arm should have been, it might be good to set up a plan early as to avoid any problems. Her plan, to take out the guards and simultaneously turn the armored car into a pile of scrap, would require more finesse than her usual jobs—any foreseeable complication that she could avoid would most certainly be taken care of first.

She positioned herself on the infamous mountain trails separating the Canopy Kingdom and the Pyrene Kingdom, noted for its large peaks and appreciably cold weather. From this position, it would be easy to launch the entire caravan off the cliff and, afterwards, salvage the Skull Heart from the wreckage. A mound of explosives placed on the north side of a bend would do just that; the Egrets couldn't possibly see around the sharp curve, and their reduced speed would give the explosives a greater window to get the job done.

"It's a simple plan with a simple conclusion." she told herself as she set the last remote grenade and ran a pressurized tripwire across the tarmac. "Why would you ever try to make things more difficult than they actually are?"

Now, all that there was left to do was wait.

* * *

They say that patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait, and that New Meridian wasn't built in a day. It's hard to disagree with blanket statements such as those, unless, of course, you've seen for yourself how horribly flawed those statements can be.

Nobody lived life by that virtue as well as Marie. Her parents had been killed in the war against the Skull Queen seven years ago, and as a result, she was forced into an orphanage at age six. The caretakers had been nice, making sure that all of their children's needs were met, and she had made a couple of good friends in her stay there. One orphan in particular, Patricia, became the young girl's best friend in no time at all, and they both looked after each other as if they were sisters. Life was good, and they were both happy.

But, sooner rather than later, they both grew anxious about their future. Even as children, they were concerned about where they would end up and whether or not they would have happy lives. The caretakers were astonished at the level of maturity that each girl displayed, though they didn't dare talk about it. It was enough of a duty to take care of these children, let alone try to keep them in a sane and loving environment.

Year after year, Marie and Patricia waited patiently for adoption. As potential parents came through the door, hopes rose dramatically. As potential parents left with a different child in tow, hopes fell dramatically. This cycle had continued for the majority of six years, but the two orphans remained resolute. They knew that, someday, their lives would drastically change, and they hoped that they would be together to see it happen. At the time, they couldn't possibly have realized how right they were.

It all started with a heart attack—two, actually. One fateful December night, while the children were all asleep, both caretakers passed away. Suspicions would later be raised about the authenticity of the autopsy reports and whether or not their deaths had been connected, but enough money had been passed around to dissuade any skepticism. All of the information that the children had heard was funneled through a large man in a notably stuffy suit. His eyes, framed by gold-rimmed glasses, looked over the children as he expressed his sympathies. Characteristically scratching the square patch of brown hair on his chin, he stopped every second or so to plan his words before he said them—just to make sure that he wouldn't say anything that he would later regret. He couldn't afford to upset the children any more than they already were.

Each of the orphans mourned in their own way. Some spent hours crying into their pillow cases, some repeatedly tried to convince themselves that the tragedy had never happened, while others sat stone-faced at the dinner table looking at nothing and everything at the same time. Marie and Patricia sat on the foyer couch, hugging each other in silence. They made a promise that day: they would stay by each others side and look after each other even in the toughest of times.

Even as the orphanage was taken over by the Medici mafia over the next month, they stood together patiently. Even as they said that they were going to knock the old brick building down to build a new business center, they stood together patiently. Even as the other children were being adopted by parents who had read the articles in the newspaper, they stood together patiently. They were the only ones left, and yet they continued waiting, hoping that someone would come and take them both away to love them like they had been loved before.

One day, a large man came to take them both away. He was burly and intimidating, wearing a prominent scar on his right cheek. He was going to be their father, and he was going to love them unconditionally, just as they had hoped. They smiled and hugged each other, excited about their future. They had each other, and nothing could hurt them.

As they got into the dark green truck, they talked to the man. His deep voice reminded them of a soldier, but there was an element to his voice that made him seem more familiar and caring than that. He smiled at them and told them that he loved them.

Everything was going as planned.

* * *

Everything went as planned. The armored car and guards rapidly approached her trap, and she stood by in wait. Not a second too late, the bombs she planted on the side of the mountain forcefully blew the caravan off the mountain and sent it careening toward an uncertain fate. The armed guards and their motorcycles, similarly, were sent to an early grave. Nobody even had a chance to scream.

"That was too easy." she spoke to herself, watching small plumes of smoke float through the air. "You'd think that they would have thought of something like this happening. I'm ashamed. I truly am."

As a professional killer, Dahlia's skills came with an ego. She thought herself the best, which she had honestly proven many times over. Her morals were simple: go where the money is. Since the Medici mafia had the money, that's where she went.

The role came with some nice perks. She got the finest culinary experiences for free. She got her own luxurious abode hidden deep beneath Medici Tower; that way, nobody could find her. As an added bonus, none of the mafia members made any romantic advances towards her. The last man who had done that ended up without a heart to give to her.

"The hard part is over." she said, standing up. "Time to get my prize. I shouldn't keep the man waiting. That wouldn't be polite of me."

After the deafeningly loud blast had done it's job, it was time for Dahlia to do hers. She stepped quickly over a couple of loose rocks and bits of debris that had flown over to her location and took a second to admire the scorch marks burned into the rock. There was no hurry, after all. Nobody would be dumb enough to run towards a wrecked car lying in a forest at the bottom of a mountain, especially this late at night and so far away from the city.

* * *

Panting, Marie ran through the forest. She ran as fast as she could. Even when she thought that she couldn't go on any further, she kept on running. She couldn't even see where she was going because of the tears blurring her vision, but that didn't matter. She just had to get away.

It seemed as if everything was out to get her. The trees stretched out their limbs to stop her, but she barged through them. Their limbs smacked her in the face, but she could barely feel them. It took a large tree root, arched high over the ground, to catch her foot and send her tumbling to the ground in pain.

Marie lay face-down in the dead leaves and dirt, crying. She told herself that she belonged there—that she should rot just like the leaves had. She had broken her promise; she had abandoned her best friend in her time of need to save herself. She had no reason to go on.

"Sorrow." spoke a mysterious voice. It didn't seem to be coming from anywhere in particular. "Pain. Suffering. Regret. You're not alone."

Marie didn't dare respond. She didn't know who was talking. It could have been one of those men who had...she dared not think about what she had witnessed only two hours ago.

"You've come a long way." it began again. "But aren't you tired of running?"

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Marie felt her throbbing left ankle. She saw that it was swollen: most likely twisted.

"I've seen what has happened to you. I feel your pain. You've been through so much, but how much more are you going to put up with?"

She didn't know the answer to that question, but something intrigued her about the voice. It sounded so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. She didn't think that she could trust the voice, but she listened to it anyways.

"You've been through so much, but what are you planning to do about it? You can't just give up, can you?"

Marie nodded in assent, as she tried her best to lift herself onto her feet. A jolt of pain shot through her leg, causing her to lose her balance and shift her weight onto her right leg. As she winced, she looked ahead and saw a ruined metal truck lying next to the mountainside. She couldn't understand how she had made it this far, but the voice must have been coming from inside the car.

"Running across the border won't save you, and you're in no condition to keep running with that injured ankle. Even leaving the forest is unlikely at best."

She slowly approached the car, letting out a small grunt of pain every time she limped. Even if this was the Grim Reaper calling her to her death, it would be better than whatever situation she was in now.

"It seems like you're out of options. So what can you do?" the voice spoke, growing louder as she approached the wreckage. "I'll tell you this: you can't do anything on your own might alone."

She stood in front of the truck, the back door cracked open slightly. As afraid as she was in that moment, she couldn't back down now. There was no turning back. She opened the door, and saw the Skull Heart, glowing a bright blue.

"Let me help you, Marie." it said as it stared into her soul. "You can take revenge against those who took you and Patricia. You can make them suffer for the evils that they've committed. You can avenge her, and you can be reborn."

Thoughts flooded the young girls mind. Could all of this really happen? Could she destroy those who had harmed her and help restore herself and Patricia? Was all of her patience about to pay off?

"All you have to do is make the wish, and all of your problems will be solved." the Skull Heart grinned. "Make the wish, Marie, and claim your destiny."

* * *

It took maybe thirty minutes for Dahlia to get to the wreckage. It had fallen quite a ways, and no sane sentient being would jump down that far and risk certain mutilation. Anyone who valued their life, to which group the assassin wholeheartedly belonged, would walk down the winding road until there was a more convenient place to jump off. Even then, the trek back to the actual truck was densely forested and, subsequently, difficult to navigate through. Nonetheless, she approached the moderately-intact vehicle with a grin on her face.

"Not a hitch." Dahlia spoke to herself, opening the back door of the vehicle. "You'd think they'd take better care of an artifact of mass destruction, but I suppose-"

It was gone. The Skull Heart was gone.

"It was supposed to be here!" she said frantically, crawling inside and looking around. "It has to be here! Nothing could have possibly...nobody could have taken it!"

But it wasn't there, and there was only one option. Panicked, Dahlia crawled out of the wrecked truck and looked around, hoping to spot any kind of trail or anything that might lead her to the Skull Heart. Unfortunately for her, she was out of luck.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

The following morning, newspapers ran off the presses at an unprecedented speed. The citizens of New Meridian, with an emotion anywhere between horror and indifference, read the headline:

'SLAVE TRADING SYNDICATE FOUND MUTILATED IN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE'

The story went on to talk about how a young girl was found there. She had both of her arms cut clean off, and her eyes were both plucked out from their sockets. Her teeth, likewise, were all missing; all that was left was a mouth caked with blood. They had taken her to a nearby hospital, where intensive care was barely able to take care of her. They didn't know what they were going to do with her. They called for donations and sympathies, which they received in spades.

Newspaper executives smiled as they saw their papers selling. They knew that this was something big. This was something that would catch people's attention, and the money would be rolling in any second. They were even receiving money mistakenly sent to them by someone donation to the orphan's cause. They ate their sandwiches and drank their coffee, none of which could satiate their lust for money.

An intern walked in with a report about a guarded caravan coming in from the Pyrene kingdom. It had been completely destroyed, though he didn't know what was in the truck or why anyone would want to blow it up. Their faces immediately went from pure glee to horror. They grabbed the papers from the young man's hands and passed them through the shredder.

They couldn't let anyone find out that there might be another Skullgirl on the loose.

* * *

**Author's Notes: So, was it tolerable? Did it make you upset inside? I hope not, because that's life.  
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**There's always room to expound upon the backstories of characters. All of what we have is a couple of sentences about what group they might have joined or what burgeoning career they showed, etc. There's room for dialogue, action, laughs, drama, and everything else under the sun. SO GET TO IT, FELLAS!  
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**Anyways, leave a review if you have the time. I really do appreciate them, and I just might respond to them! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys next time. Cheers!  
**


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